


Don't threaten me with a good time

by Nalyra



Category: Hannibal (TV)
Genre: Based On A Panic! At The Disco Song, Canon Compliant, Crossdressing, Drugs, Explicit Sexual Content, Kinky, M/M, Post-Canon, Post-Episode: s03e13 The Wrath of the Lamb, Sex Toys, Spanking, Will Graham has a hangover
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-04-19
Updated: 2019-04-19
Packaged: 2020-01-15 08:36:08
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,266
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18495304
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Nalyra/pseuds/Nalyra
Summary: A fight and its consequences.Well, kinda.Will Graham has the hangover of the century and wakes up... in a very specific way.





	Don't threaten me with a good time

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Ishxallxgood](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Ishxallxgood/gifts).



> This is all Ish's fault.  
> And got way more kinky than I anticipated.
> 
> Thank you dear :))))

 

 

His head is pounding, the taste in his mouth a foul thing, thick and disgusting. Will pulls a face, eyes still scrunched shut, groaning as he shifts, freeing in spot as he hears the rustling, feels the stiff cloth chafing on his thigh.

 

 _WTF_?

 

He lowers his head, eyes opening just a slit, hissing as the light filters in, disbelief creeping into his expression. Sheer pink cloth glows faintly in the morning sun, the faint breeze up from the close beach carrying sea-salt and an instant flash-back, triggering another groan. _A … tutus?_ Will slumps back on the sofa, pressing the heels of his hands into his eyes, the pressure alleviating the pain just the tiniest bit. “I’m too old for this.” The words come out beyond raspy, his throat hurting when he tries to swallow the taste away. He breathes in deeply, shaking his head slowly, trying to make sense of the flashes tumbling back into his mind, his consciousness too sluggish to keep up.

 

He sighs and then pushes himself forward, nodding in wry, fatalistic acceptance when the sensory input from his feet finally gets processed, the 6-inch-high-heels black and sleek and red-soled. _Of course._

Will carefully positions his feet, grimacing as he pushes himself up, viciously conscious that his legs are bare, the soft breeze making the hairs stand up. He looks down at the tutus, somewhat relieved that he managed to keep his underwear, though Hannibal’s request, no INSISTENCE, that he wear the sleek, skimpy silk ones makes much more sense now. _The bastard._

 

Will pushes his hands to his hips, rolling his shoulders, the shirt he still wears knotted at his stomach, the buttons all undone, his tie nowhere to be seen. Nor is his murderous significant other. He shifts his weight, grimacing as his feet protest. _Must’ve worn them all night…._

 

He sighs and resigns himself to the situation _for now_ , slowly looking around their living room.

There’s someone snoring on the piano, thankfully dressed. _He better not leave any body fluids on the strings._ There are glasses and plates everywhere, proof that the cleaning crew has not been in today. _Planned, huh._ Will narrows his eyes, vaguely annoyed that he didn’t see this coming. _No liquor left on the shelf._ Fits with the headache.

 

He steps forward, steps just slightly insecure, his body remembering the motion, the heels clicking lightly. Amusement tugs at his mouth when he finds Nikki on the chaise-longue, their neighbor still very much unconscious, her pretty summer dress signed by various names. In lipstick. Now that will be a pain to wash out.

 

Will reaches for the carafe of water next to her, deciding to forego the dirty glasses, drinking the slightly stale water down in big gulps, only feeling how parched he actually is when his thirst is finally quenched.

His head is still pounding but it is easier to look at the morning light now, the ocean rolling just beyond sight, the faint sound soothing. Their neighbor from the other side, Hank, is upside down on a gaudy floating unicorn in the pool. Will clicks his tongue and nods, turning back towards the house, jolting when he catches a heap of bodies on the lawn from the corner of his eye.

 

_Oh no. He … didn’t._

 

He stumbles over, suddenly terrified, the heels sinking into the lawn, making him curse wildly, the relief a rush of endorphins when the sounds of sleeping humans reach him, and he shivers to a stop, trying to catch his breath, closing his eyes, bowing down a bit, his hands on his thighs, bracing. _Who are these people? And … Where the hell is Hannibal?_

It sure isn’t like Hannibal to leave Will with a bunch of strangers. His hands clench on his naked skin.

Especially…. Dressed like this. Or undressed, as it were.

Will eyes the heap of limbs, trying to find a familiar face.

_I should probably introduce myself?_

_Ah, fuck it._

 

He turns back towards the house, looking up at the glass front, mirroring the perfect blue sky. He catches some of his reflection in the kitchen window, very much relieved to see that he managed to wake up without make-up at least, though his hair is done into two small braids, one to each side. He gasps at his reflection for a moment and then just shakes his head, stalking towards the kitchen, rationalizing that if Hannibal is up he would be there.

 

There are footprints all over their lawn, some of them looking distinctively weird, not at all human-like. A wave of nausea hits Will and he stumbles, cursing, silently berating himself, breathing in deeply,. He wishes fervently for his clothes, doggedly keeping on, utterly glad when he reaches the terrace and solid ground again.

 

His heels click on the warm sandstones as he enters the sleek kitchen, slightly at a loss when it feels desolate, all apparatures cold, a mess of leftover food left on the counters.

Will frowns, quickly checking the pantry as well, pulling a face when he sees the spilt wine on the floor.

 

This really isn’t like Hannibal.

Or Will, for that matter.

 

Worry steals itself into his hangover, his jaw clenching. He slightly hits the door frame with his fist, the impression of a memory rushing back, heated words, thrown into Hannibal’s face, at the end of a ridiculous fight over some prestigious art show Hannibal had wanted to visit, trying to convince Will by telling him they would have a good time and which Will had thought to be too high profile for these two fugitives.

He had twisted the hurt in Hannibal’s eyes around, weaponizing his empathy. _“Don’t threaten me with a good time.”_. It had been meant condescending and had been said with an acerbic undertone, the energy between them crackling and festering until it had exploded into Hannibal tearing into him, bent over the dining room table, making Will scream, the bruises on his hips there for weeks after.

 

He shifts at the memory, his body clenching in sensory echo, the slight morning arousal they so often put to good use mixing with the remnants of the alcohol haze his body is still working to get rid off. He reaches down and presses, refusing to get hard right now, not when there’s so many questions still to be addressed. He passes by Nikki, still unmoving, entering the hallway, an assortment of clothes and shoes lying around, testament of careless handling.

 

Nothing Hannibal would normally abide.

 

He takes the stairs up, a part of his brain noting how his hips shift differently, how it feels. How the very snug underwear keeps it all tight, the slight pressure not exactly helping.

His lips twitch, and he curses, berating himself lightly, the sexual prowess of “them” far beyond comparison of any prior experiences, fueled by energies far beyond the mortal coil.

 

He stops at the top of the stairs, inhaling deeply, eyes lidded, senses primed.

Or as primed as possible with a roaring headache.

So - first things first.

He turns towards the bathroom, not bothering trying to be quiet. His heels echo loudly on the tiles, the Tylenol thankfully full and Will swallows two down, bending down to drink water directly from the faucet, splashing something into his face after.

The shift in position does … something to him, his muscles locking. He undulates a bit, feels how the tutus chafes lightly on the front of his upper thighs, his backside feeling exposed and… Will swallows, gripping the edge of the sink for a moment. Now really isn’t the time. He hesitates, licking his lips, his fingers gently tracing the handle of the cupboard under the sink.

He could.

For later.

Because there will be a later.

 

There better be.

 

He moves his hips again, chasing the feeling, his throat going dry when his mind totally helpfully combines it with the experience it has. And the memory that this specific toy is just here, in this cupboard.

Will crunches his eyes closed and then reopens them to stare at himself in the mirror, his eyes bloodshot, making the blue even more intense, his wild mop of hair tamed into braids. There is a slight rash around his lips and he raises his fingers, tracing them, confirming the realization. Bitten.Harshly. A memory of a dare in some bar returns, the burning red of Hannibal’s eyes swallowed black as Will closed in, pulling him into a deep kiss, the crowd around them cheering, Hannibal obliging but punishing, teeth sharp, just this side of breaking his skin. Hannibal’s hand, pulling him in, his fingers pressing into the cloth on his ass.

So Will still had had his pants then.

He squints, trying to sharpen the image.

And a party hat. And a … cane?!

 

He shakes his head, trying to remember more, vague impressions of the bar too indistinguishable for recognition. He groans, shifting his weight. His thoughts take a detour, wondering at how it would feel like this, with their height difference evened out. Damn.

 

He exhales, letting his head fall back slightly, snapping back down immediately when he sees the big bruise on his shoulder, bloody and deep purple, the pain when he touches it bringing back the memory with inescapable arousal, the sound Hannibal had made when his teeth went in something that will now stay, forever.

He had come, instantly, dripping down the front of his undone pants, in the backstage of another night club, five thousand people with designer drugs on the other side of the curtain, the music drowning everything else out.

Hannibal had looked at him, his mouth dripping with Will’s blood, breathing heavily, eyes a blackish red. There had been something raw and wild there, reality converging onto and into them, surreality spreading as Hannibal had come even closer, his fingers nimble and gliding as they unfastened Will’s pants and reached for the tutus. Will had been transfixed, unable to think, hissing when Hannibal put his cock away again, gently, making sure the underwear sat comfortably, before snapping the skirt shut in the small of Will’s back.

His fingers had been scorching on Will’s naked skin.

 

Will pinches the bridge of his nose, breathing heavily, the wound throbbing now, now that he is focused on it and the alcohol haze fades. He shifts his hips again, wallowing in the need for a moment, wondering that he could, theoretically, sit down.

There had been other instances after all where that had been an impossibility..

Not like Hannibal not to take what he wanted, now that he was implicitly allowed to.

 

Will drops his hand again and frowns at the mirrored image of his braids.

_Where the hell did that happen._

 

He shifts again, groaning lightly when his simmering arousal twists up a notch, his hand coming up to twirl at the curl in the braid, feeling silly. And something else.

Thrilled. He licks his lips. It’s a hell of a feeling. Already.

He swallows, blinking rapidly, exhaling in a rush. _Well then. Fuck it._

 

He reaches down, opening the cupboard, taking the box out carefully. He opens the lid and takes the little toy out, shivering lightly when he feels the motion in it, the double spheres within the plug rolling. He reaches for the lube, slicking it up matter of factly, pushing down his own pants just far enough. He breathes in deeply and then makes himself relax into the pressure, riding the edge of pain with delight. The toy glides inside, his body gripping it tightly, anticipating already. He pulls his hand forward again, panting slightly, licking his lips.

 

He reopens eyes he doesn’t recall closing, looking at himself and then he deliberately rolls his hips in an eight-motion, the resulting vibrating sensations making him gasp, his knees buckling.

_Oh my fucking god._

He’s hard, his stance widening on instinct. He swallows, washing his hands with jerky motions, trying to keep his body still for it.

_Maybe this was a really bad idea._

_(Or ingenious.)_

_You still don’t know where Hannibal is, for fuck’s sake._

 

The first step is almost too much, the way the heels enhance the motion of Will’s hips, making the spheres in the toy rotate deep within Will. He swallows and pants, open-mouthed, determination making him take the second step and third, and the ones after.

He stops just outside the bathroom door, listening closely. Snoring from below, groans and light laughter from outside. Slapping and moans.

_Good for them._

 

Nothing from the bedroom.

Like a void, swallowing everything up.

So that’s where Hannibal must be then.

 

He turns, observing the hallway quietly, scenting the air.

He’s not hunted, that he is sure about, his senses sharpened by the many hunts they have been on together by now, but there is something he cannot quite name, something that draws him in, the connection simmering between them, always. He shifts to turn and the toy … rotates, making him gasp, holding himself to the wall. His gaze falls onto the small side table, snarling with a smile when he picks up the sweet, the self-made and hand wrapped cherry lollipop definitely not something that would be laying there on normal days.

 

He slowly unpacks it, the sound of the crinkling paper bringing the memory of Hannibal back, unpacking the very shoes he wears now, sleek black Louboutins, offering them to Will from his position on the floor, kneeling in front of the piano. And Will had uncrossed his legs and offered his foot from his perch on top of the grand piano, their eyes locked, the giggling crowd very far away and utterly unimportant.

 

_Definitely planned._

But why?

He could have just asked.

It’s not as if they hadn’t … explored any other proclivities yet.

 

Will frowns, admitting that a crossdressing or even feminization kink might be a bit hard for Hannibal Lecter to admit though, especially after introducing Will to all the fun they can have together. If that is what this is. Or maybe not.

Maybe this is something else.

 

He looks at the lollipop, twisting it in his hand.

He picks up the paper, smirking when he finds the little paper in it, the handwriting unmistakeable: ‘Don’t think I’ll ever get enough.’

 

Enough of what?

Will? Will narrows his eyes, aware that he is already aware of _that_.

 

So what then?

 

Will bites his lower lip, wishing for Hannibal to bite them. Their taste, mixing with the champagne, the expression on Hannibal’s face when he waited for Will’s consent before rubbing something onto his gums, following his fingers with his tongue.

Hungry.

_No, starving._

 

And Will had let him, had let himself fall, freely, into that night. Into whatever Hannibal had wanted. Willingly.

 

_For Hannibal that had been like a shot of pure heaven._

 

So. Drugs in the lollipop. Highly likely.

Will licks his lips and bites his lower lip, considering.

Knowing Hannibal this could be anything from mind-altering to recreational, deeply hallucinational, or just gently relaxing. Or maybe viagra for days.

 

Will clicks his tongue and puts it into his mouth, sucking gently, unsurprised but delighted when the taste explodes on his tongue, little sparks spreading beyond the barriers of his mouth, traveling along his nerve endings. He suckles at it in earnest, leaning against the wall, his hips swaying a bit, the drug and the light vibrations mixing deliciously.

 

The void deepens and Will feels his neck prickling, the air suddenly electrified.

 

He shivers and smiles, knowing Hannibal watches him now, drawing the lollipop out, rolling it along his lips on purpose before sucking it down again with a moan. He can feel Hannibal shift closer, knows, just knows that he enjoys the show, very much so.

And god knows, so does Will, his hips taking up speed, moaning now for real, his expression lewd, wanton, uncaring. He rocks into the feeling, straining, knowing he could come like this, feeling weightless, the world in cotton, only his arousal real and important.

 

His teeth crunch the last of the little candy, the lollipop stalk falling to the ground. Will leans back against the wall, the tutus shifting, lifting up in the front. Will feels obscenely exposed, floating, a shift in the air announcing Hannibal’s arrival.

And then lips close in, licking the sleek cloth, mouthing him through his underwear. Will mewls, rocking a bit, groaning when fingers grip the base of the toy, intensifying the sensation by moving the handle, just a bit. Light explodes and it really is inescapable, Will’s orgasm rushing up, a brilliant moment of ecstasy, his fingers threading through silvery hair, his body held up by Hannibal when his muscles give, the smell of him heavy in the air.

 

Hannibal breathes in deeply, nosing the exposed skin at his stomach, his words muffled. “Sometimes, I cannot discern whether this”, he pauses, fingers gliding on Will’s thighs, “or you are a dream.” He dips his tongue into Will’s belly button, making Will jerk lightly, renewed sparks of the toy almost too much. Hannibal pushes himself up, slowly, the tutus ruffling his hair, hands pushing up the hem of the knotted dress shirt, just up under Will’s chest, effectively making it a short top.

A part of Will files everything away for analysis later, but he cannot deny that he is still brutally aroused and spent, thrilled and way out of his depth, floating on post-orgasm endorphins and drugs, _this_ so new and addictive he can barely breathe.

 

Hannibal pushes close, the hardness of his cock feeling brutal and scorching, their heights evened out for once, and he reaches up, pushing the collar away from the wound in Will’s throat. His voice sounds far away, raw. “I want to possess you.” A pause and Will feels as if his heart would spring from his chest, the beats hard and fast. Hannibal reaches up further, fondling the little braids for a moment. “You are so beautiful, whatever form you might take.”

 

Will frowns lightly, feeling very close to what Hannibal really means. “Do you want me to take other forms?”

Hannibal swallows, his mouth dropping open, his eyes black. “Sometimes.” He drops his gaze, his hand following it, tracing down the length of Will’s body. “I called you an incubus before… Look at your legs like this, Will.”

Hannibal smiles sharply and then twirls Will around so he stands in front of him, facing the wall-size mirror on the other side, looking over Will’s left shoulder. His hand strokes up and down Will’s thigh, tickling the crease of his ass, drawing along the line of his underwear. “In enjoy a multitude of delights, Will, as you know.” He presses his hand against Will’s perineum and the toy’s handle, making Will moan deeply, his cock twitching fruitlessly within his messy pants.

Hannibal chuckles, exhaling the words. “I have wondered how you would look with more feminine attributes, your beauty something otherworldly after all.”

 

Will snorts, his laugh just this side of sour. “With all the scars you put on it?”

Hannibal’s grip turns harsh, bruising. “Especially with them.” His left hand glides up, caressing Will’s neck gently for a moment before gipping tightly, making Will gasp.

He presses the words out, frowning, his eyes locked to Hannibal’s in the mirror. “Why didn’t you ask, Hannibal? Why the… charade? The party? Why the gaudy version of it?” He licks his lips, a shiver running down his back. “You could have bought me proper… clothes after all.”

 

Hannibal leans closer, nosing at Will’s nape, effectively hiding his eyes for a moment. “And you would have been guarded, obliging, willing maybe, but guarded.” He chuckles, the puffs of air tickling Will. “Your beautiful brain in overdrive, analyzing, envisioning.” He inhales, smiling sharply at Will in the mirror. “Not like this, wanton, relaxed, hungover and simply enjoying yourself.” He suckles at the wound, making Will hiss. His hands drop down to Will’s ass, squeezing. “And now you’re just a bit high, still aroused, or maybe we should say ‘again’, thrilled, different, and… “ Hannibal moves into Will’s body, filling every nook, every bend, something _necessary_ slotting together. “… At the same height.”

 

And Will exhales, realizing Hannibal is right, the freeing aspects of this night and morning taking him out of his self, out of the life they built.

Out of the fear of discovery and recognition.

 

He lets his head fall back onto Hannibal’s shoulder, whispering. “Who did the braids?”

Hannibal chuckles against his nape, his tone slightly peevish. “I did. When you were snoring on the sofa. I often wondered if your hair was long enough, now that you started to grow it out again.”

Will snorts, lightly shaking his head. He smirks, his tone bordering on lewdness. “And now, Dr. Lecter? Anything… else you would like to do?”

Hannibal hums, hand gliding around and up to pinch Will’s left nipple. “Since you dared to start without me, I believe you are in for some punishment, beloved.”

Will’s heart kicks up speed, his mouth dry. “What did you have in mind?”

Hannibal licks at his nape, voice low. “Since you were so kind as to enhance your own pleasure, I will take my punishment there.” He leans forward a bit, pressing. “Bend forward, just a bit, mylimasis.”

Will swallows, the sound a loud click before doing as he is asked, pressing his hands against the mirror for balance. Hannibal steps back as well and Will feels bereft, and conversely like single point of anticipation, thrumming with energy.

His eyes fall closed, the slap falling a moment after, finding its target unerringly, the mixture of pain and pleasure a jolt to his system, triggering a low shout. Hannibal caresses the plug for a moment before he repeats the slap, making Will see stars. Hannibal chuckles behind him and breathes something Will cannot understand, the next slap more pressuring caress than anything else, the breathy gasps telling Will Hannibal is far from unaffected as well.

 

“Please.”

The word rips from Will#s throat, and for once Hannibal does not make him wait, reaching into Will’s underwear to pull the plug out, the toy coming out slowly, Will mewling. There are rustling sounds and a zipper pulled open and then Hannibal pushes the clothes aside perfunctory, pressing in unrelentingly, making room for himself, the brilliant edge just sharp enough to tether Will to his body.

And then he holds and Will smiles sharply, his head falling back, bending his back a bit before he starts rolling his hips, the heels changing the angle, the way the pressure finds its way. The clothes between them chafe and drag, the underwear Will still wears constraining, the heat of their bodies converging in this single point that feels scorching and raw, just slick enough not to hurt, the mirror fogging under Will’s palm. Hannibal’s hands are lightly on his waist, not guiding, just holding on and Will almost feels as if he were masturbating, floating, using a toy to pleasure himself. The thought notches the thrill up a bit, and Will concentrates on it, his mind conjuring the image he must make, enhancing it, testing out what he likes while rocking back, gently, relishing the breach again and again.

His orgasm hits as a surprise, making his knees buckle and he falls to all fours, gasping and drenched in sweat, a scream stuck in his throat when Hannibal pulls him back and starts to fuck him, viciously, the orgasmic haze drawn out by ruthless precision, the moment when Hannibal comes deep within almost blinding in intensity.

 

Hannibal pulls Will to the side with an arm around his stomach and lets himself fall down, effectively spooning Will, still connected, both their bodies shaking with exertion. Will feels raw and open and used, in a thoroughly good way, pulling Hannibal’s hand up and over his heart.

 

He hums, feeling Hannibal nuzzling closer, content just to lay there with him, on the floor, for all to see.

 

He doesn’t know how long they lay there, or how much time passes until Hannibal slips out, the mess between them inconsequential and unimportant. Below them people are moving around, calling, taking their leave. Someone is playing something on the piano, butchering the song and still Hannibal does not move, both of them too relaxed to care.

 

Will ponders distractedly that Hannibal had been correct, that Will had been too high strung, too … careful. Not for fugitives, maybe. But definitely for enjoying himself, fully. He licks his lips when the sun filters through the overhead window, bathing them both in gold, his tone dead-pan. “We will keep the shoes.”

 

Hannibal snorts behind him and presses hard onto Will’s heart, sighing when he hears a glass shatter somewhere. Will cackles and then pets his arm, rolling around. He reaches up, pushing a silver strand from Hannibal’s forehead, his smile uncaring and yet unrelenting. “Don’t bother Hannibal. We will need to move after all.” He raises one eyebrow, expression apologetic. “Sorry. But… shoes or not, I’m not giving you up.” He reaches up and pulls Hannibal down, giving him a quick kiss. “And we really tore up this town last night.”

Hannibal returns the kiss, too tame and careful to be short of heart-wrenching, his fingers tracing the soft skin of Will’s eyes for a moment. “We raised hell.”

 

Will smirks, weighing his head. “So, Dr. Lecter. Where to next?”

 

Hannibal smirks and bends down, possessing Will’s mouth in a deep and almost desperate kiss, and Will kisses back, hungry, always hungry, knowing the answer already.

 

 _Everywhere_.

 

 

 

 


End file.
